Little Soldier Boy: Ave Atque Vale
by Raven-Rach
Summary: Ave Atque Vale. It means Hail and Farewell. At some point it became what the Nephilim say during funerals, or when someone dies in battle." Oneshot dealing with Jace's reaction to Max's death. -Rated T for a Teen Book-


**Hi guys! I know, I know- long time since you've heard from me, right? I'm sorry, really I am!!! I had exams during the summer and was forced to stop writing because of that. I have just moved to college and have been suffering from writers' block for a while too. However, a PM from kishimat (max ride reviewer) inspired me to write a little this week. My deepest apologies to Kishimat that this is ****not**** a Max Ride fic!!! I will write one later this week, I swear.**

**Now, onto the important stuff!! **_**A HUMUNGOUS THANK YOU **_**to everyone who voted in the Mortal Instruments Awards!!!!!! You guys are amazing: thank you so much for reading my work, I can't express how much it means.**

**So, this little oneshot is dedicated to EVERYONE who has ever read my work, added it, favourited it etcetera. You guys are unbelievable, and I really really mean that. THANK YOU. **

**-Raven out.**

* * *

"Hey, little brother," Jace said softly, bending down to settle on the ground on his knees. He knew that his eyes were bright… filled with sadness that shamed him to show. Jace didn't usually exude pain or sorrow, he had to be strong for everybody- especially himself. Even in the aftermath of death and destruction, there was a niggling mannerism at the back of his mind forbidding him from breaking down, forbidding him for letting any true hurt show outside the strong walls that had been built around him. Walls that, he had to admit, were to a large extent built by himself.

So Jace sat and stared at the white headstone. White… the colour of mourning, a blank and empty colour. It matched the hollow feeling deep within his chest. His throat felt like there was a very large ball of cotton lodged in it, almost as if he would choke if he wasn't careful. The horrifically blunt sight before him took away all his defences- even his reliable sarcasm. It was all gone. This couldn't be deflected from. He found himself feeling vulnerable and isolated. Jace couldn't even hate the feeling, it shrouded him too much for that. His marked hands shook with traitorous tremors. Pain that didn't kill you made you stronger: it was something he had to bear with, but this wrenched at his heart and soul so horribly that he found himself wishing for reprieve. He wanted to take the easy way out, if there was an easy way out. A rune from Clary perhaps… but that was cheating, and Jace wasn't quite that weak.

"I'm sorry," he croaked brokenly. The walls were crumbling, crumbling like the wards around Alicante on that fateful night. His steely façade was drifting away in a slew of pain. Like a tidal surge of furious water bursting through a flimsy wooden dam, the fear and guilt coursed through the Shadowhunter's body.

"By the Angel, Max, I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry!" The whispered sentiment was harsh and coarse. The damp ground soaked through Jace's thick black gear. His golden eyes cast down to the earth in defeat.

"I know it's not good enough, Max. I know that… but it's all I can say. All I can say is that I'm sorry." He drew in a shaky breath and swallowed thickly. "I wish I could have been there… could have done something. _Anything._ But you were alone."

A cool breeze washed over Jace, and his shaking frame wavered. "I wasn't there when you needed me… I wasn't there, and now look where you are. By Raziel, look where you are," he cried softly.

Jace could feel the dampness begin to trickle down his cheeks, and yet he didn't even care. The walls were gone, this could tear down any defensive walls and shatter them to a thousand pieces. He looked up once more to see the Lightwood family emblem and the horrific sight of the name inscribed beneath it.

"And I know what I should say, Max. I know that I should say that I wish it was me. Wish that you could live and I could die to save you and take your place… but I can't. I can't say that, Max, and it's killing me."

Jace tore his eyes away again in an act of complete humiliation and shame. "I can't say it… I can't lie to you, Max. I can't say I would take your place in a heartbeat, because I wouldn't. I couldn't leave her," he admitted in a self-loathing whisper. "I could never leave Clary…"

Jace gave a hollow bark of humourless laughter. "Some brother I am, eh Max? I don't deserve to call myself your brother. I'm not good enough for that. I wasn't there, Max. _I wasn't there!" _Jace's fist lashed out to pound the ground he kneeled upon, leaving a round imprint in the grass. His entire body shook with overwhelming anger at himself and the situation he found himself in.

"A toy soldier," he murmured vacantly. "All you had was a little toy soldier. I gave you that stupid toy. I guess you must have liked it, if you had it with you. Did you look at it, Max? Right before the end came, did you look at it and think that I would come and save you? I bet you did. But I let you down. In the worst way possible, I let you down."

"Valentine," Jace began, "could never stand spoilt children. Then again, he could never tolerate children whatsoever. But he told me once, that if I wanted toys, I could make my own. I would care for it more, he said, if I had put the work into creating it. You had to deserve something, not just get it for nothing. So I did. I made an entire troop of soldiers- Shadowhunters to be exact- I thought that he would like that. It would be a manly toy, something to symbolise the Shadowhunter mission and the strength that we held. I carved them out of wood, sometimes the knife would slip and my fingers would bleed and bleed… but I was proud of myself when I finished. They had taken time and effort, my sweat and blood. I carved them all and hand-painted their gear with sharp attention to the tiniest detail. Valentine never cared for them though. A disdainful glance was all they got, but I had loved them."

Jace looked towards the hills of Idris, lost in distant memories. "I say _had _because once I saw my father's reaction, I decided that they could not be worth loving. Of course, to love was to be weak and vulnerable in any case. So I destroyed them. Threw them into a big fire and watched them burn. The orange and red tongues of fire consuming their tiny bodies… I forced myself not to cry as I watched their carefully carved bodies turn to ash, as their delicately painted jackets and medals turned black and the flames ate them up. I wouldn't let myself mourn, because I knew that Valentine would be disgusted."

"But later," Jace continued, "while I cleaned my room, I found one of them underneath my bed. The commander of the troop. And he looked exactly as he had when I made him. Stoic and strong, a born leader that could not be touched by trivial matters. So I kept him, he was a survivor and a true example of strength. I wanted to be like him: untouched and fearless; a survivor and a fighter."

Thin fingers stretched out, as Jace traced over Max's engraved name. "That little soldier was all I had when I came to live with your family. He would stand upon my nightstand watching over me, reminding me of all that I aspired to be. And then one day you came to my room and began playing with him. I was so furious. The soldier was mine, he was no longer a toy- he was something much much more. I used to carry him around in my pocket to keep him safe. You were told to never touch him, and you didn't."

Jace exhaled loudly. The shadowed look of pain still glimmering in his moist eyes. "Until I gave him to you for your birthday. You were more important than a toy, no matter what that toy symbolised. And I told you that he would protect you, just like I always would- because we were both fighters and brave; and would never let anything happen to you. I would have been about thirteen then. I didn't know that I had lied until now. But I want you to know that I _wanted _it to be true- more than anything else, I always wanted to protect you. I always wanted to save you. I always will."

Moving his legs slightly from their stiff position, Jace rubbed his hands tiredly over his eyes. His eyes were ringed with a dusty red colour after the motion. "I'm sorry, Max. I should have been there. I should have saved you. You never should have had to be alone, holding that stupid damn toy hoping that I would come along and protect you. I failed you, Max, and I can't take that back- but I want you to know that I can never forgive myself for that either. Not ever."

In the distance, a bird shrieked a harsh cry of pain and shrill sorrow. It seemed to slice through the air as Jace sat alone beside all that remained of his youngest brother. "I'm not like that soldier, Max. I wasn't there with you at the end, and just like him I couldn't save you. But he is just a toy, I'm real and I can feel the guilt eating at my insides. I'm better than that toy, because I can feel. I felt it when I had to burn the little troop. I felt it when you died and I felt as though I would too… and I feel it now. It won't ever go away, Max, because I could have been there and I could have prevented it. I won't forget you Max, and I won't forgive myself."

The tears sprung up in his eyes again, and Jace angrily swatted them off his face with the back of his hand. "You would have been a great Shadowhunter, Max. A true fighter, you wanted to be that soldier almost as much as I did. You would've been a great man. You always were a great brother and a great kid, I won't forget that. I swear, and I'll keep that promise no matter what."

Jace fished into his pocket and clenched his fist around a small object held within. "A commander looks after his troop," he stated firmly. "He watches over them and protects them. And even though this one failed you, I think you loved him anyway. He'll look over you."

Jace swallowed another thick lump caught in his trachea and placed the little toy beneath Max's name. "You won't be forgotten Little Soldier Boy. I promise."

With one last glance, Jace turned his back upon the desolate grave and walked away- letting his walls build up as he went, keeping his pain inside where nobody else could see. And when Clary told him that it wasn't his fault, he would smile and nod as he held her close, and feel that echo of pain reminding him that Max could never again feel as happy as he felt when Clary walked into a room. But somehow, that made Jace want to relish the happiness even more.

After all, it was a gift that could be taken away at any moment- and when it did get taken, Jace knew that Max would be furious if he had not made the most of the time he had. So Jace wouldn't forgive himself, but he knew that he would move on. Like a soldier marching alongside the ghosts of all his departed comrades, Jace knew that Max would stay with him. And Jace didn't say the customary words before he left… _ave atque vale_… because he knew that there was no farewell. Max Lightwood was too loved and cared for to ever bid farewell to. With a last look at the solitary soldier diligently standing guard, Jace began his walk back home through the necropolis of white tombs.

Life was for living, and Jace was going to live. The pain and guilt might linger on, but as the old Latin phrase dictated he was going to seize the day. With Clary by his side the grief seemed easier to bear, and his little brother would be with him every step of the way.


End file.
